


What We Are to Eachother

by cozi_chic



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 17:30:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19891648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cozi_chic/pseuds/cozi_chic
Summary: Crowley ran his thumbs over Aziraphale's cheeks and leaned in.He kissed the Angel's temple, kissed the Angel's cheeks, kissed the side of his face, his jaw line, his chin, reached the corner of his mouth and hovered for a moment before leaning in-"Don't." Aziraphale backed away, leaving only their foreheads touching."Why not?"





	What We Are to Eachother

Crowley was sprawled on the couch with his head in his Angel's lap as Aziraphale sat up properly and read a book aloud. They were surrounded by books; hundreds and hundreds of books that the angel had collected over millennia. Aziraphale was reading one that he had taken careful consideration to choose for his demon, and Crowley was studying the way Aziraphale's mouth moved. 

He looked awfully pleased with himself in having convinced Crowley to be read to - not that Crowley was really listening. Well, he listened sometimes - though he wouldn't admit it if anyone other than Aziraphale asked - but more often than not he was distracted by the reader.

Aziraphale laughed and looked down at Crowley.

"Can you believe her?"

Crowley shook his head. "Totally mental, that one."

Aziraphale continued. Crowley marveled at how Aziraphale still seemed to miss his subtle sarcasm after 6,000 years. Poking fun at Aziraphale was like having a silent laugh with one's self.

Anyway, while Crowley was barely listening he was rather enjoying the act of being read to, of knowing how excited the Angel was to read to him, of feeling warmed to his very essence by simply being in the cozy position they had found with his head in Aziraphale's lap. 

It had been 6,000 years and they were finally allowed to lay like this.

Crowley reached a hand up and stroked his fingers through the hair around Aziraphale's ear. Aziraphale smiled lightly and continued reading. Crowley ran his fingers down further to the back of Aziraphale's neck, playing with the stubble that was forming. He felt the Angel swallow. Crowley moved his hand to the side of Aziraphale's neck, running up the soft skin with his thumb, massaging at the tender spot behind Aziraphale's ear-

"Are you listening, Dear?"

Crowley raised his eyebrows. "Of course."

Aziraphale did not look entertained. Crowley grinned and continued to play with Aziraphale's ear. "Keep reading, Angel."

Aziraphale cleared his throat and did so. He had grown flush in the cheeks, light pink, and Crowley found it absolutely stunning. A warm feeling settled in the bottom of the demon's stomach.

He sat up slowly. Aziraphale continued to read, seeming unaffected as Crowley leaned his head on the Angel's shoulder. He could hear Aziraphale's pulse, quick and pounding, picking up as Crowley's breath grazed his neck.

6,000 years of thoughts. 6,000 years of craving. 6,000 years of not being able to do so much as link arms with his angel, and here they were like this.

How the world was Crowley meant to focus on a book?

Slowly but confidently Crowley reached for the book and took it from Aziraphale's hands. "Oh," the angel said. Crowley placed the book mark between the open pages before setting the book down on the table beside them. He turned to Aziraphale and took the Angel's face into his hands. Aziraphale hummed softly and leaned into the tough, gingerly raising his hands to Crowley's wrists. Crowley ran his thumbs over Aziraphale's cheeks and leaned in.

He kissed the Angel's temple, kissed the Angel's cheeks, kissed the side of his face, his jaw line, his chin, reached the corner of his mouth and hovered for a moment before leaning in-

"Don't." Aziraphale backed away, leaving only their foreheads touching.

"Why not?"

"... Crowley," Aziraphale whispered, opening and closing his mouth as if to say more but unable to find the words.

Crowley pretended to laugh. "What?" he asked again, attempting to appear tickled and casual as everything within in him sank. "Is it because it's a sin?" he mocked.

Aziraphale scoffed and pushed Crowley's hands away. "Yes, as a matter of fact!" he yelled and stood, pacing the room.

Crowley rose and followed him. "Oh you're serious? That's it?" his words pierced the air, "Come on Angel, you can't possibly believe that anyone upstairs gives a damn!"

"Enough, Crowley!"

"No, really. Would it be okay if we were bound by 'holy matrimony'?" he continued to mock, "if I took on a woman's body instead of a man's?"

"You can't seriously think it's about that!" Aziraphale shot back, stepping to Crowley and immediately stepping back as the demon moved forward.

"What is it about then?" Crowley asked, "enlighten me."

Aziraphale took a deep breath, "It's about everything!" he erupted, "It's about my entire world just falling apart, my entire sense of belonging, of reasoning, of purpose. It wasn't the same for you!" 

Crowley softened, his face dropping with realization. 

"You didn't actually believe in the side you left," Aziraphale continued, "I did. It was everything. And you want to push me, you always push me, and for what? For _sex!_? Is it really that important!?"

Crowley laughed a cynical laugh. "You and I both know this has next to nothing to do with sex." He didn't yell; he stated, defeated, "This is about what we _are_ to each other, Angel. What we've _been_ to eachother for thousands of years."

Aziraphale's eyes met his, wide and full of sorrow. For a moment Crowley felt seen; for a moment Crowley felt a sense of understanding between them. 

For a moment. 

Aziraphale's shoulders fell. "And what do you think that is, my dear fellow?" He all but whispered, "Do you think we've been romantic partners to each other for thousands of years? Do you honestly think I'd entertain that? That I've let myself entertained that for _thousands of years_?"

All Crowley could do was stare and try to breathe. _Breathe_. He licked the inside of his mouth and looked away, trying his best to ignore the damn liquid gathering in his vision.

"Oh Crowley," Aziraphale's tone softened. He stepped towards the demon and reached for his face. "Crowley, please don't-"

Crowley swatted away his hand. "Don't know if you should do that. Seems like an awful romantic-al partner-y thing to do, hmm?" he turned to leave.

"They're human terms, Crowley!"

Crowley stopped. Aziraphale's words echoed and hung in the air. He was suddenly reminded of a bandstand, of a star-clad sky, of the last time his heart had ached quite this much. _I don't even like you!_ Aziraphale's voice rang in is head. _You dooo!_ Crowley had insisted. He was confident at the time, and still was now, but this wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that Aziraphale's love was always up to him to prove to himself while the Angel denied and denied - it wasn't fair to have to ignore Aziraphale's words and focus instead on his looks and actions and touches. The only difference between then and now was that he had a damn good excuse to give to the Angel back then; Armageddon, cognitive dissonance, the threat of his side finding out. But that was over; it was all over. And yet, here they were.

"They're human terms," Aziraphale said again, softly.

Crowley turned to face him stiffly, having never been more grateful for his shades in his entire life. "Human terms?" he asked monotone. "Look at us, Angel. Look at what we've chosen. You're hardly an Angel anymore and I - I'm a sorry excuse for a demon. Always have been."

They stared at each other. _A stale-mate of vulnerability_ , Crowley thought.

"You're cleverer than this and I'm exhausted, I'm leaving." 

He turned. 

"Crowley..."

He kept walking.

"Crowley!"

The doorknob was cold. The slam behind him was loud, but distant, and all that existed was the nightly path he wandered down. Crowley stopped once he'd put enough distance between himself and the book shop, falling against a wall but feeling no sense of support from the brick against his back or the concrete beneath his feet. The cool, rain-touched air filled his lungs and he looked up, removing his shades and allowing only the stars to see his tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~TO BE CONTINUED~  
> Sorry not sorry. Probs just writing this to cope with my own gay-ass dramatic life but it's fine I'm fine I'll update eventually so just suffer for now ;)


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